Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
I shrug. “Isn’t it all the same stinky shit?”
She rolls her eyes. “No. It’s not all the same stinky shit. Just like some people prefer beef over chicken or seafood, so do cats. You could try asking your mother.”
“Yeah, sure. I can do that.” She seems to remember she has a cat without a problem, but I have no idea if she’ll be able to identify his favorite kind of food.
“We’ll give this one a try and see how he responds.” She returns one of the cans to the shelf and brushes by me, the smell of her perfume or body wash lingering as she passes. I close the pantry door and follow her back to the kitchen. I learned the hard way that when the door is open, Prince Francis has access to anything that’s in a paper bag. He chewed a hole through the dry food and gorged until he puked the other day. There were barely chewed kitty kibble puke snakes all over the kitchen floor.
Kitty shakes the container of treats, and a few seconds later Prince Francis’s bald head appears. Kitty tosses a couple treats in Prince Francis’s direction and makes a tutting sound. Slowly, over the course of a few minutes, Prince Francis makes his way across the kitchen toward her.
I check my phone for new messages. The game has already started, and the GM is blowing up my phone with messages about strategy and pulling numbers for tomorrow. “Be careful,” I warn absently. “He’s not the friendliest.”
“He probably senses your dislike for him.” She keeps her attention on the cat as he prowls closer.
I don’t argue, because she’s undoubtedly right. Instead, I message the GM and tell him I’m not home but I’m recording the game and I’ll message as soon as I’m free.
When I finally glance up from my phone Prince Francis is stretched out on the floor beside Kitty with his head half in her lap, kneading the air.
“Oh, look at you, what a handsome boy you are! What a beautiful pink belly you have!” she exclaims.
I lean against the doorjamb and watch this grown woman cooing at the ugliest cat in the history of the world, telling him how handsome he is and how much he must miss his human. She’s an odd one, that’s for sure. She’s also pretty in an unconventional way. Not that it matters what she looks like. Prince Francis just wants food at regular intervals.
Eventually she gives him half a can of food, which he devours in less than two minutes, and then he climbs into her lap and puts his paws on her shoulders. She stands, holding Prince Francis like a baby. He purrs contentedly and rubs his head against her chin, then tries to stuff his head down the front of her shirt.
“Prince Francis, dude, that’s harassment. You can’t do that if you want Kitty to come back.” I’m not sure I have a right to scold him since I tackled her like a football player, but I really do need her help. He clearly has no intention of listening to me, because it looks like he’s trying to climb right inside her shirt. “Do you want me to shoot him with the water gun?” I think it’s still in the living room.
That earns me another eye roll. “No, you don’t need to shoot him.” She shoves her own hand down the front of her shirt and a few seconds later produces a kitty treat. “Ah, there we go.” She lets Prince Francis eat it out of her hand. “Hazard of the job.”
This is so weird. “I, uh, need to clean up the mess he’s made. It’s probably better if I do that while he’s occupied.” Also, I feel like me talking less is better.
“Go ahead. I’ll just get some snuggle time in with the little Prince. We definitely don’t want all those broken trinkets on the floor, where they can cut his toe beans.”
“Toe beans?”
“The pads of his feet.” She crosses over to the lounger, which has been around since I was a kid, and she sinks down. Literally. It seems like the springs have gone in the seat cushion. She doesn’t complain, though. Just lets Prince Francis knead her legs until they’re tenderized enough that he can curl up in a ball in her lap.
I quickly sweep up broken knickknacks, sneezing, occasionally checking on the game and my messages from the GM between trips to the garbage can. I toss a bunch of the stuff on the side tables into a box to prevent more issues in the future. I need a weekend to go through the place, but that’s not going to happen until I’m back from my trip. Hopefully with Kitty around to help, there will be less tossing stuff off shelves.